Hunted
by Kage no Koji
Summary: When Caboose is found injured, mauled and at the brink of death, Simmons and Grif begin to wonder if something more sinister than Tex roamed around the box canyon before they arrived. Was it going to come after them? Were they going to die? Why is Caboose calling for Church? GRIMMONS and implied CHABOOSE. T for everyone's mouths...except Caboose's. Set between seasons 6 and 7
1. Bleeding in the Rain

**Author: XD This by product of my brain is Storm Maiden Lucania's fault. I saw the Red vs Blue movie (really, just the first season in one run) and became instantly hooked. So, in short, I have become a fangrl of Red vs Blue!**

**Disclaimers: I DO NOT OWN RED VS BLUE! I so wish I did...there would have been more mpreg babies!**

**Warning: GORE, VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE, SEXUL SITUATIONS ARE ALL FOUND IN HUNTED! IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS, THEN DON'T READ! i AM NOT RESPONISBLE FOR POSSIBLE SCARRING OF THE MIND OR ADDICTION!**

_**Hunted**_

_**Chapter 1: Bleeding in the Rain**_

_**~Valhalla- Post War: 6 months~**_  
For the Red Team in Valhalla, it was a perfectly normal day. Simmons was kissing Sarge's ass, Sarge was yelling at Grif, and Lopez... was being Lopez. However, the constant sunlight that fell over the lush boxed canyon was suddenly blocked. It became covered by a curtain of dark ominous clouds. Grif, who had been lounging on the roof, looked up and wiped his visor. The weather never changed!  
"What the fuck?" He muttered, rolling to his feet with a yawn. He stared at the sky, thoroughly confused as Simmons and Sarge burst into the roof.  
"What in sam hell is goin' on? Grif, what did you do?!" Sarge barked, glaring at the orange clad soldier. Grif jumpd, a whine already making it's way into his voice.  
"I didn't do anything! The sky did that on it's own!" He protested, pointing to the dark blanket above. Valhalla was fully cast in shadow, the water turned black and the colors muted to dull shades of grey.  
"Sir, I'll have to agree with Grif on this one. There's no way this fat ass wash out could possibly change the weather." Simmons interjected.  
"Yeah! Wait... Hey!" Grif whined, just realizing the insult within the statement. Just as Grif opened his mouth to form a coherent rebuttal, a scream ripped across Valhalla. It pierced the air like shattering glass, bursting the Red's eardrums as it echoed through their radios.  
"What the fuck?!" Grif exclaimed, trying to turn his radio off. He could still hear screaming, somewhere around Blue base. Simmons cursed as he finally switched his helmet radio off.  
"What the heck? Was that Caboose?" Simmons asked, annoyed and a little worried. Sarge grunted.  
"That damn fool probably jus' set 'imself n fire." Grif could 't help but feel a sense of foreboding building in the pit of his stomach. He could still hear the far off screams... Right until they suddenly cut off.  
"Should we...should we check out if Caboose is alright?" He asked, shuffling around as the light pitter patter of rain began to fall upon Valhalla. Sarge grumbled under his breath.  
"Well, it'd be a shame if that idiot died by an accident and not by us Reds! But then again... It could all be an elaborate plot to separate us! That no good, dirty blue could have secret reinforcements, and is tying to draw us away so he can attack our base! And it was probably him who changed the weather!" Sarge rattled off in an excited, heavily Southern accented voice. Simmons rolled his eyes, but Grif was the one who spoke up.  
"Sir, I really doubt that Caboose could have enough brain power to put all that together." The Orange Spartan quipped, rain starting to fall harder. Thunder rumbled over head, bringing with it the promise of a long storm.  
"Well, I don't care if he can't wipe his own ass! We aren't leaving this base!" Sarge groused, marching into the depths of the base and leaving Simmons and Grif alone.  
"We need to go check on him." Simmons said, sounding deadly serious. Grif's eyes widened in surprise, his mouth just short of dropping open. It was rare, almost unheard of for Simmons to even think about going against Sarge's orders! Gif quickly composed himself though, and nodded in agreement. The twi jumped into the grav-lift, skyrocketing into the air before landing upon the wet ground with two solid thuds. The sky had finally opened up to unleash a down pour of stinging rain. The winding river that flowed from the waterfall by Blue base was roaring, the water splashing onto the bank. The water level was already rising, and fast.  
"We need to hurry. If the water keeps rising like this, it could flood the canyon." Simmons said as they jumped across the river. They ran in in silence for a few minutes, looking over Blue base and it's surroundings. Grif finally came to a halt and swore.  
"We're never going to find him! That retard Caboose could be anywhere!" He pointed out, shifting in his armor uncomfortably. His suit was rubbing in places he would rather not think about.  
"Alright, I'll go check the base. Maybe he's hiding out in there. You check out here. He could be hiding under a tree or something." Simmons said. The two took off in different directions, hollering for Caboose and shouting his name. Grif even whistled as if he were calling a dog!  
"Caboooooooose! C'mere boy!" Grif shouted, trying to escape the rain under the pitiful umbrella of a young tree. When he received no reply, or even a gunshot, he sighed.  
"Simmons, please tell me you found Caboose in the base." He asked over the helmet radio, a shred of hope hanging by a thread. If Caboose was in Blue base, Grif and Simmons could just go home!  
"Sorry Grif, but I don't see him anywhere. We'll just have to keep looking outside." Simmons static riddled voice replied. With a groan, Grif pulled himself from under the tree and onwards, cursing Caboose.  
"Roger tha-fuck!" The orange clad Spartan cursed as his boot snagged on something and sent him reeling forward. Grif landed face first in the cold mud with a wet squelch. For a second, all Simmons could here over the radio was the sound of Grif trying to regain his footing and spitting out an expletive when he once again lost his balance.  
"Fuck berries! I'm gonna kill Caboose!" Grif roared as he finally managed to make it to his feet after minutes of slipping and sliding. His orange armor was covered from visor to his boots in greenish brown mud, thoroughly masking the paint and his vision. Grif huffed and bent down to pick up his rifle, wiping his visor, when he saw something poking out of the mud in the corner of his eyes. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was the butt of a rifle, similar to his own.  
"Hey, Simmons, I found a rifle! Do you think it could be Caboose's?" Grif asked.  
"Well, it could be. I mean, I've never found any other weapons lying around." Simmons stated, trudging through some underbrush.  
"I'm gonna keep going. Maybe that moron is around here somewhere." Grif reported, slowly making his way out of the mud. He walked on for a few minutes, his ears straining to hear the smallest disturbance. It was hard to concentrate with the roar of rain and occasional boom of thunder overhead. The weather was growing more and more treacherous by the second, driving to the point where Grif was almost being lifted off the ground by powerful gusts of wind! Debris and rain splattered against his visor, making it nigh impossible to see as he struggled along.  
"Gri-! You -eed to get- of th-! The -orm is gett- too dangerous!" Simmons yelled through the radio, his voice constantly interrupted with static as he cut off.  
"I will! Just give me a few- son of a bitch!" Grif yelled out as he stumbled and fell to the ground once again. He turned, trying to discern the objet that tripped him up again. Squinting through the slick rain and leaves, Grif could see a smear of red... Against shattered dark blue armor.  
"CABOOSE!" Grif scrambled to his knees, hands clenching down on the armor he could see that wasn't covered in mud or blood. It was definitely attached to Caboose, by the way it refused to lift up at Grif's touch. The orange clad Spartan cursed again. He couldn't see through the haze of the storm, making it impossible to determine Caboose's wounds.  
"Simmons! I found Caboose! He's hurt but I can't tell where!" Grif shouted, trying to find Caboose's chest. His fingers ran over the sharp contours of the armor, looking for the tell tall grooves of the chest plate. Ah! There it was! With a grunt, Grif wrapped one arm around the Blue's chest, struggling to lift him up. With a wet sound, Caboose's helmet was freed from mud, only to make Grif curse again. The helmet was battered and broken, the visor crumbling to pieces. Half of it was still partially intact, barely holding back a tide of blood that seeped from within. Grif ignored the burst of static roaring in his radio as he tried to pull Caboose away.  
"Simmons! I can't hear you! I'm going try and find some shelter!" Grif shouted as he drew himself up, looping one of Caboose's arms around his neck. The Blue soldier was a dead weight on him, unmoving and eerily quiet. Grif caught a glance at the exposed part of the Rookie's face, but could only get a glimpse of deathly pale skin, a flash of pale blond hair, and plush lips caked in blood.  
_~All I can tell is that he's losing blood fast. If I don't get him outta here, he's going to die.~ _Grif thought grinly as he dragged Caboose away. He couldn't make it back to Red or Blue base with Caboose like this. His only option was to settle down in the alcove of two rocks, which gave him just enough shelter to escape being wet for a while.  
Grif gently laid Caboose down on the ground, seeing his injuries clearly now. The chest plate was a ruined, twisted mess of metal. It was gouged with deep slashes, yanked and pulled on as if some creature had been trying to pry it open. Blood seeped from where bits of armor had been broken off, flowing freely now that the rain wasn't there to wash it away. It pooled around Caboose's body, trickling across the wide field of his ruined blue armor. The helmet was ruined, half of it missing and the other half cracked beyond repair. Long, deep scratches marred Caboose's skin, splitting the tender flesh open to expose raw nerves and bone. His eyes were closed, clenched tight out of pain. A lock of stray blond hair peeked out from under Caboose's visor, stark against his ashen flesh. Grif wiggled his hand between the Blue Spartan's jaw and neck, sighing when he found a weak, yet steady pulse. All Grif could do mow was try to stem infection from setting in and keep Caboose breathing while he waited out the storm. Grif finally sat down next to Caboose, pulling the injured idiot's head into his lap. He watched as the Blue soldiers chest rose and fell slowly, just barely discernible under the weight of his chest plate.  
"Hang on buddy... We're gonna help you." Grif whispered, one hand protectively on his gun, while to other gently stroked Caboose's cheek.

**Author: Alright! The first chapter is finished and I eagerly await our reviews to figure out how the second chapter will go! So, hit that button and review you lazy hobos! Review review review review review re- JUST DO IT ALREADY!**

**Flames will be used to heat Hell and Axel! :D**


	2. Of messy bases and new medics

_**Author: I'm actually pretty happy with my progress so far! I'm hoping to get updates every few days or so, since my current schedul is extremely busy at the moment. But, I hope you still enjoy **__**Hunted**__**!**_

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN Red vs Blue, it's character, music, or other such merchandise. I own this plot idea and a few random OC's. If I did own RvB...more fanservice stuff for everyone!**

**WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS VIOLENCE, STRONG LANGUAGE, POSSIBLE SEXUAL SITUATIONS AND GORE! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR NOT READING THIS AND SCARRING YOUR MIND OR GETTING ADDICTED! YAOI IS MENTIONED IN THE SUMMARY AND HERE FOR GOOD MEASURES! IF YOU DO NOT LIKE, DO NOT BOTHER READING!**

_**Hunted**_

_**Chapter 2: Of messy bases and new medics**_

Grif was woken by the incessant shaking of his shoulder just a few hours later. Blearily, he lifted his head and yawned, only to be met with Simmons's reprimand.+  
"Grif? Why the fuck did you fall asleep?! Caboose could have bled out!" He scolded, pressing some spare ripped clothes to the Blue spartans wounds. Grif, instead of making an excuse, only tried to help put pressure on the wounds.  
"I'm sorr-"  
"Save it for later. There isn't any time to bicker right now. Thank god Sarge is doing maintenance on Lopez today." Simmons said, cutting Grif off. He dragged over what appeared to be a gurney, made of lightweight metal and dark grey stretch canvas. It would help the two Reds move Caboose, without having to carry Caboose, since the gurney could float and move with a few commands.  
Gently, Grif and Simmons moved Caboose to the gurney, trying to keep the wounds from getting worse. Simmons shook his head as he rose to his feet, clicking a button to make the gurney rise. Now, with injured in tow, the duo tried to get back to base as quick as possible without leaving the gurney behind. It could only move so fast, which wasn't fast enough for Grif.  
"I don't get it. What could have attacked Caboose and not left, I dunno, any foot prints or stuff?" Grif aske. Simmons frowned, and could only shrug.  
"I don't really know Grif. I mean, it's just us here...in this box canyon. With no way in and no way out." Simmons said, rolling his eyes. Why were their bases always in box canyons?  
"Until we get him patched up, all we have to do is make sure Sarge...doesn't realize there's a Blue in Red base." Simmons said, his voice petering out as he realized a fatal, and very obvious flaw in their plans. Sarge would never let them have Caboose in their base to heal and recover.  
"Change of plans... We'll have to go to Blue base!" Simmons declared.  
"Nice save, genius." Grif snorted, trudging along as the changed directions, heading to the empty Blue base.  
When they arrived, the two Red Spartans could only stand around and wonder where Caboose kept anything. The base looked like a train wreck! Gear and extra supplies were arbitrarily thrown about, laying in heaping piles in the corner or in the middle of the dank hallways. A few of the small overhead lights were flickering, running on their last fumes before they inevitably went out.  
"How does he sleep with-with-with...with all this chaos!" Simmons exclaimed, dancing around nervously.  
"Hey! We aren't here to clean! I gotta take a nap sometime today!" Grif interjected, grabbing Simmons by the back of his skinny neck.  
"You find some medical junk. I'll stay here and, uh, guard Caboose." Grif said, pushing the maroon Spartan towards a bright room, light spilling out into the dank hallway.  
"You're just saying that so you don't have to do anything, you lazy fuck!" Simmons shouted, yet begrudgingly began to search through the mass of objects cluttered in what appeared to be a sort of mess hall. He gingerly shifted through the piles of unorganized supplies, squealing in a very un-manly fashion as he uncovered a dead rat.  
_~How does he function?! Why did Command let him be alone? There's no way he can survive like this!~ _Simmons thought, moving away from the pile with the dead rat. He could hear Grif laughing in the hallway, no doubt doubled over with mirth.  
"Oh shut up you fat ass!" Simmons shot as he finally found a med pack, stalking back to the orange Spartan.  
Grif grinned under his helmet, giving Simmons a hearty slap on the back.  
"Who knew you could sing that high!" He laughed, all at Simmons expense. With a grumble, Simmons hunched his shoulders up and went over to the still unconscious Caboose. The extra cloth from ruined clothing seemed to stem the flow of blood enough for Simmons to peel the make shift bandages back and peer at the wounds. They were starting to ooze pus, and looked an angry shade of red.  
"We're gonna have to call a medic Grif. I don't think we can help him with just this." Simmons said, waving around the medkit.  
"I already did. Hopefully this new guy will get here soon." Grif said with a shrug.  
"I hope it's not Doc." Simmons said with a shudder as he tried to atleast take the rags off of Caboose and replace them with sterile, snowy white bandages.

_**~The next day...~**_  
"Where the hell is Grif?! Simmons!" Sarge barked, scanning the surrounding area around Red base for his slacker soldier. Simmons popped up from inside, prompt as always. Even if he and Grif were practically committing treason and going against Sarge's wishes... That didn't mean he couldn't still suck up!  
"Yes sir, Sarge sir?" Simmons rattled off, a little nervous. He had a hard time lying to anyone, much less the man he pushed all of his daddy issues onto. Sarge whirled around to face Simmons, looking him straight into the visor.  
"Simmons, where did Grif go? I need to put him down and insult his family!" Sarge rumbled, planting himself in front of Simmons. The maroon Spartan swallowed thickly, shifting from foot to foot nervously as he tried to remember what the cover story was for his and Grif's little 'operation'.  
"U-um, I haven't seen him sir! Maybe he's- hey look! Who's that over there?" Simmons exclaimed, pointing to what appeared to be a soldier of some sort. They had bright white armor, with red crosses painted on the chest plate, shoulder pads, and the top of the helmet. They carried a huge bag on their back, probably laden with supplies and such. Sarge grumbled, about to bark at Simmons when the soldier spoke up.  
"I'll go see who it is! If it's a dirty, rotten blue, I'll make them think twice about going anywhere near Red base!" Simmons said, running off the roof before Sarge could say another word. The Red team leader could only nod at Simmons enthusiasm and supposed loyalty.  
"He'll make a great leader one day...but not till I croak!" Sarge chuckled at his little joke and decided to walk back into the base, confident Simmons would take care of everything.

"Hey! HEEEEEY! You!" Simmons shouted as he ran towards the white wearing soldier, who stopped and tilted their head at him quizzically. Simmons came to a screeching halt in front of the stranger, just short of colliding with them head on. Simmons panted, doubling over to put his hands on his knees. He was skinny as hell, but he was probably in the same shape as fat ass Griff.  
"Hey...you...you the...medic?" He huffed, looking up at the white soldier.  
"Yep! I'm Mitch Gander, the medic you guys called for!" 'Mitch' replied in a cherry, very feminine voice. Simmons had to think for a minute.  
"Mitch... But you sound like a girl!" He puffed, straightening up a little. Mitch slapped his shoulder, laughing.  
"I am a girl! But that shouldn't stop me! Now, where's the injured soldier?" Mitch asked, seeming completely at ease. Simmons took a breath, and pointed towards the vague shape of the Blue base in the distance.  
"He's on the Blue team, and uh, our Sarge doesn't know about him. So, we kinda gotta keep it on the down low." He said, guiding Mitch over to the base.  
"How bad are the injuries? It sounded pretty serious when your friend, uh, Grif called." Mitch asked as they briskly trotted to Blue base. Simmons nodded, frowning.  
"Yeah, it looked like something mauled him... Like an animal, but there isn't supposed to be any out here." Simmons said, drawing closer to the base. It was only a few minutes jog from one base to the other. It only looked for because of the extensive foliage. As they came into view of the Blue base, Grif came sprinting out.  
"Hey! Caboose woke up!" He shouted. He stopped to stare at Mitch for a rather awkward amount of time.  
"Um, yeah, this is Mitch Gander. She's a girl. What was that about Caboose?" Simmons pressed urgently, grabbing Grif's arm. The orange Spartan shook his head before speaking.  
"He just woke up and started blabbing about some sort of 'big kitty' and 'stop biting me'. I can't make a word out of what the fuck he's saying." Grif explained as they entered the base. The two Reds had finally managed to clear a space for Caboose, laying him down on a cot under a light. They had long since stripped his armor off, leaving him in bare skivvies. The damaged gear lay in a pitiful pile, helmet staring at the arrivals in a forlorn fashion, reflecting distorted images back to them.  
Caboose, while so far had been still and silent, was now thrashing around in a desperate attempt to free himself of some horror his mind had conjured up. Grif and Simmons rushed forward, trying to restrain the delusional Blue without hurting him further. A scream ripped it's way out of Caboose's throat, maw wide open to expose pink stained teeth.  
"CHURCH! Church don't go! CHUUURCH!" Caboose screamed, eyes snapping open to reveal baby blue orbs filled to the brim with genuine terror.  
"I thought he was talking about cats!" Simmons shouted, grunting as he tried to hold down Caboose.  
"He was earlier! H-he-hey!" Grif yelled as he was suddenly thrown across the room by the Blue's flailing arms, sending him cartwheeling into a pile of dirty clothes that reeked.  
"Try to keep him still! He's only going to hurt himself! Or you!" Mich called, dropping her bag and rummaging through it. Simmons hoped it was for a sedative! Caboose's legs kept flailing everywhere, scraping against Simmons body and sometimes his helmet!  
"You better hurry up or he's gon- DAMMIT!" Simmons was finally overpowered by the delusional Caboose, sent wheeling backwards until his feet tripped over each other and Simmons found himself kissing the ground with his helmet.  
Mitch ran over with a needle in tow, one with a special plunger made for quick applications just for rowdy patients like Caboose in his current state.

"Hold on there!" She cried, planting a hand on Caboose's forehead and pinning it to the cot. With one fluid and quick motion, Mitch had successfully sunk the needle into the Blue Spartan's neck and delivered the sedative in record time!  
Mitch watched as Caboose's movements became sluggish, limbs starting to move more like wet noodles than rods of steel that could knock you out. His muscles gradually relaxed, loosening up and unwinding as his baby blue eyes became hazed over with dalliance, setting him far away from the reality of his pain and suffering.  
Mitch took a deep breath, nestling two fingers under the injured Spartan's jaw.  
"Okay, he's fine for now. I'll have to work on him ASAP. You guys okay?" Mitch asked, glancing between the two. Grif groaned, prying himself from the mountain of clothes piled over his bright orange armor. He peeled a pair of strangely yellow discolored boxers from his helmet and tossed it away with a disgusted grunt.  
"Why the hell is he so goddamn strong?" Grif complained as he stood, rubbing the small of his back.  
"You're just jealous he can actually lift a ten pound weight, unlike you." Simmons snapped. Mitch could only roll her eyes as Grif spat out an expletive and flipped the maroon soldier the bird.  
"Okay, how about you two find something useful to do, away from here, so I can treat Caboose? Okay? Okay! Sounds great! Now get out!" Mitch said quickly, pushing the Hawaiian and nerd out the door. The two were left to stand in the hallway, still bristling and angry.  
"I'm going to go search the database." Simmons informed Grif, before he turned and marched down the hall to where he assumed most of the computers were kept. Grif grumbled under his breath, and sat on the floor, finally ready for a nap.  
"Ass fucker..." The orange Spartan grumbled before he closed his eyes and imagined himself back home, on those sparkling Hawaiian beaches.

_**Author: Okay, so what did my loyal and most lovely (and handsome!) readers think? Did you guys like Mitch? XD I thought her normality would help even out some of the pure crazy shit that goes on here.**_

_**So review dammit! I need them to feel good about my myself!**_

_**Flames will be used to heat Hell and Axel! :D**_


	3. Another Attack

_**Author: I'm happy to announce the third chapter of my story, Hunted! So, please read and review! **_

_**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN Red vs Blue. If I did... there would be a lot of more hurt/comfort stuff. o-o**_

_**Warning: VIOLENCE, GORE, LANGUAGE, POSSIBLE SEXUAL SITUATIONS, AND OTHER SUCH STUFF! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR POSSIBLE SCARRING OF THE MIND OR ADDICTION! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**_

_**Hunted**_

_**Ch 3: Another Attack**_

Simmons had spent hours shifting through terra byte after terra byte of useless information on the main computer he had found. His helmet lay discarded by his feet, softly reflecting the blaring light of the huge console. Simmons groaned, hanging his head in exasperation for the millionth time. Before him on the computer was a variety of animals that supposedly inhabited Valhalla, but none were big enough to inflict such damage on Caboose! Well, except for some sort of whale looking thing, but that lived out in the ocean. It was impossible for it to even get on land, much less hurt Caboose and hardly leave a trace otherwise. Simmons rubbed his face, hands running over the cybernetic left eye he bore. He could feel the plate of surrounding metal run down his cheek, and reaching back into his soft brown hair. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the computer, and grimaced. One dark green eye stared back at him, contrasting with the neon red one in his skull. He traced the thin scars that peeked out from the metal plate, hardly distinguishable from his already pasty skin. Freckles dotted his nose, splaying onto his high cheek bones. His fingers trailed from his face, down his neck, and resting on his left shoulder. He could feel the soft whir of the gears beneath his armor, the gears and cogs always spinning around till it drove Simmons crazy. He briefly recalled the day when Grif had been run over with the Blue's tank. He remembered Sarge contemplating that he would just let Grif die, to spend his last moments in pain. And then his memory became blurry. Simmons vaguely recalled that he had practically begged for Sarge to somehow save Grif, even offering to give the stupid orange soldier his own body parts just to save him. The next thing that Simmons knew, he was strapped to a table with Sarge leering over him, visor reflecting back the terrified visage of Simmons. The maroon soldier clenched his metal arm tightly, feeling the well polished prosthetic creak beneath his grip, the memory of his pained scream filling his mind.

"Hey brainiac, you got anything?" Grif's voice, suddenly in his ears, yanked Simmons out of his reverie. The orange soldier had a hand firmly grasping Simmons real shoulder, slightly shaking it. Simmons turned sharply to be met with curious brown eyes. Grif had discarded his own helmet as well apparently, and was standing close to his team mate. Simmons felt his chest twinge with guilt as he saw the long puckered scars running over Grif's once surprisingly handsome face. His warm brown skin was contorted and had strange patches of lighter colored skin. Grif's Hawaiian background had been marred by Simmons 'donations', yet it was not totally lost. Grif still had silky black hair, which he had let grow out until his reached past his ears. Simmons had to control himself from snapping at Grif to push his hair back. It was distracting when a lock of it hung in Grif's line of sight, begging to be tucked behind one ear...

"U-uh, nothing. There isn't anything big enough to even do a quarter of the damage to Caboose." Simmons said, recovering from his momentary day dream. Grif frowned, glancing at the computer screen. His eyes returned to Simmons, and his brow creased even further.

"Hey, you okay man? You look pastier than usual." Grif asked, looking somewhat concerned. Simmons scowled and pushed Grif away. He was in no mood for insults and name calling!

"Fuck off, I'm busy." Simmons snapped, hunching over the computer with a huff.

"You sure as hell don't look busy!" Grif shot back, grabbing Simmons arm tightly. Just as Simmons opened his mouth to cuss out the orange Spartan, he was turned around sharply to face a glaring Grif. The Hawaiian pushed Simmons into the console, successfully cornering the maroon soldier. Grif planted his hands on either side of Simmons, ensuring he wouldn't get away easily. Simmons tried to wiggle his way out, scowling at Grif.

"Let me go you fat ass!" Simmons barked, more than just a little uncomfortable with his current position.

"No." Simmons stopped for a moment to glare daggers at his fellow Spartan, lip curling in a nasty way.

"I said-"

"Just shut up!" Grif barked back, refusing to move. Simmons could feel his resolve waver, taken back by how forceful Grif was being. Usually, the orange soldier was far too lazy to even think about taking charge!

"Why the fuck can't we ever get along? Lemme guess, because you want to suck up to Sarge and get the attention daddy never gave you? Well, that's a shitty excuse to treat your team mate like dirt! Don't I get enough shit from Sarge?" Grif demanded, his brown eyes boring into Simmons mismatched ones. The maroon soldier quailed, finding that what little fight he'd had in him was rapidly evaporating. It was true that he pushed his need for a father figure onto Sarge, trying to please him and get the praise he so desperately craved. Simmons gulped, looking down out of shame and guilt.

"Look, I-"

"Am I interrupting?" A voice asked from the doorway, sounding quite amused. The two men jumped a foot in the air, scrambling away from each other. Simmons dived for his helmet, jamming it onto his head to hide the embarrassed look on his face and the quickly blooming red on his pasty skin.

Mitch stood in the doorway, helmet under her arm. She wore a wide grin on her face, white washed blue eyes alight with mirth. She had a oval shaped face, bordered by locks of chocolate brown hair that hung loosely. The hair in back was shorter, not even teaching her ears while the front sloped forward to hang around her face. Her bangs were an unruly mess, most likely from her helmet.

Neither man responded, too busy trying to ignore how compromising they had looked before Mitch walked in. The medic only grinned and walked over to Grif, who was trying to hide his face beneath his helmet like Simmons.

"Oh, lighten up pretty boy! Y'know, sexual tension is a terrible thing between team mates!" She chirped, slapping the orange Spartan's shoulder heartily.

"What the fuck do you want?" Grif spat, finally affixing his helmet in place with a disgruntled huff.

"I wanted to ask who or what Church is. Caboose keeps whispering his name. If I know what he's talking about, perhaps I could determine his mental state beyond just raving mad." Mitch explained. Grif sighed, motioning that Mitch should walk alongside him. Once they were out in the hall, and out if earshot if Simmons, the orange soldier began to talk.

"Church was the Blue teams leader, erm, sorta. I heard their actual commander died of some allergy or other shit. But Church acted like the leader, and Caboose really liked him. Kinda obsessed with him really." Grif explained, while Mitch nodded. Sh held her chin between her thumb and forefinger, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Alright. That gives me a little to work with." Mitch said. The medic stopped suddenly, and wrapped an arm around Grif's shoulder, surprisingly strong. She grinned broadly, keeping him in place.

"You should really hook up with that Simmons guy. I think it would make working together muuuuuuuuuch more comfortable!" She said with a wink. With a laugh at Grif's flustered silence, Mitch waved at him and walked away.

_~At Red base...~_

Sarge grumbled under his breath, pacing around his room. Neither Simmons or Grif had come back to Red base for hours, leading Sarge to suspect that they were both screwing off around somewhere.

"Dammit! I'm gonna have to find both those morons and drag 'em back here for a good thrashin'!" Sarge groused, stomping towards the base entrance.

BOOOOOOOOOM!

The base rocked with the fierce force of an explosion, sending Sarge to the ground with a surprised shout. The lights flickered on and off at a dizzying pace, casting contorted shadows around the room. Sarge couldn't make heads or tails of his surroundings as he struggled to his feet. With a final spastic hiccup, the lights went out. The Red Spartan was left in total darkness, only able to see a foot in front of him.

"Goddammit, Grif probably spilled soda on the controls again. Simmons! Simmons get over...oh." Sarge said, realizing once again that he was alone.

"Son of a bitch!" He cursed, trudging along.

"Lopez! Lopez, where are ya', ya' Spanish speaking kook?" Sarge yelled as he stomped through the base, his mood now diminished to downright annoyance and anger.

As Sarge passed another empty room, he felt something brush by him. The Red leader turned sharply, lifting up his shotgun. He saw no movement in the pitch black jungle that had taken over Red base, did not even see the piercing reflection of two slitted eyes. They were like white ellipses, cutting through the darkness like neon lights. Sensing nothing, Sarge only grunted and walked on, leaving himself open from behind. A light suddenly flickered to life, popping like a fuse beginning to short. Sarge whirled around in time to see the end of a whip like object disappear around the corner. It had been long, and covered in black leathery skin with protruding bones that was stark in the harsh light. As the light bulb sputtered and once again died, Sarge slowly began to creep forward. His shotgun was raised and at the ready, finger steadily hovering above the trigger. He closed the distance between himself and the corner inch by inch, his breathing held in anticipation. Sarge's adept ears searched for any flutter of movement, eyes straining in the pitch darkness of the base. Slowly, the barrel of his shotgun rounded the corner, head craning to get a peek at whatever had been creeping through his base. It was silent, and still. No breath escaped into the very ai-

"SON OF A BITCH!" Sarge shouted as he felt his shotgun ripped from his gloved hands, stumbling back around the corner. He heard it clatter against the ground, scraping against the rough concrete. Sarge could feel something cold settle in the put of his stomach, a chill working its way up his spine. Sarge had never felt such fear in years... The kind that paralyzed a person in place and froze their lungs. With a shuddering breath, Sarge slowly peeked around the corner...

"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRGGGGGGGHHH!"

_**Author: Wheee! Another chapter done! I'm on a roll! Okay, so I know my loyal watchers and followers are out there, so please review! Leave your comments and such! And even if you aren't one of my followers, still leave a review please! All reviews are appreciated and LOVED!**_

_**So review review review review review review review review review review review review review review revi- DO IT ALREADY RO SHEILA WILL RUN YOU OVER!**_

_**Flames shall be used to heat Hell and Axel! :D**_


	4. Vivid Dreams

_**Author: Heya! Here's chapter four of **__**Hunted**__**! This took me a bit longer than normal, mostly because of school and other crap in my life. I also wanted to allude to a few things later on. ;) Anyways, the word count is roughly 2,651 words on just the chapter itself! **_

_**I also want to thank my first reviewers, **__**JC**__** and **__**knight**__**! Thank you for reviewing! And please guys, read and review in the future! :D I really do love seeing reviews!**_

_**Disclaimer: I DO NOT Own Red vs. Blue or anything related to it. Just a few OC's and the plot.**_

_**WARNING: CONTAINS LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, GORE, AND POSSIBLE SEXUAL SITUATIONS! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR POSSIBLE SCARRING OF THE MIND OR ADICTION!**_

_**Hunted**_

_**Chapter 4: Vivid Dreams**_

Caboose was confused. This wasn't surprising in the least, however, his situation did warrant a little discombobulation. He found himself standing around in pure darkness, with no armor or gun on his person. "Hellooooooooo?" Caboose called, blue eyes trying to peer into the void that yawned before him like a great black sea. A flickering of light caught Caboose's eye, and he gasped as a tiny green figurine manifested before him, sharp against the black void in which he hung. "Private Caboose, do you remember me?" A calm voice asked, green figure staring intently at Caboose. "Yeah! You're the little green man!" Caboose said excitedly, a broad smile crossing his face. "Yes, I am Delta. But I am only a memory of him, and I have very little time before Epsilon regains control." The logic AI reported, his green light flickering between opaque and translucent. "Private Caboose, I must warn you about the creature that attacked you. I fear it may go after others in an attempt to locate the Epsilon unit." Delta said, trying to keep the dim-witted soldiers attention on him. "That creature is not a natural being, and is being controlled by the AI know as Omicron, or Insanity. I also believe that Omicron has fused with Phi and has become extremely dangerous." Delta said, projecting the form of two others into the darkness. One glowed a wavering pearl color, while the other was a menacing maroon color. "Phi? I like pie!" Caboose said, smiling broadly as he clapped his hands together. If Delta could sigh, he would have. "Private Caboose, I need you to tell Agent Michigan that Omicron and Phi are trying to get Epsilon. Can you remember to do this, Private Caboose?" Delta asked, though he doubted that the bluetard would recall half of this. Caboose only tilted his head in confusion, brow furrowing beneath his messy mop of straw blond hair. "Who is Agent Missygon?" He asked. "I do not have time to explain. Epsilon is regaining control. You will know when you see her, Private Caboose." Delta stated cryptically, before he flickered out of existence and left Caboose to float aimlessly in the utter darkness of his unconscious mind. But instead of waking up at last, the private was met with a life sized Church manifesting before his eyes. "Church!" Caboose squealed, throwing his arms around the pissy blue team leader excitedly. "Caboose, get the fuck off of me!" Church yelled, pushing the taller man off of him in a disgruntled manner. Surprisingly, Church was in full armor. Though, Caboose hardly cared. "Church, you came back! My bestest friend is back! Now I don't have to spend all day in the base alone!" Caboose blabbed on, waving his limbs around in pure excitement. "Yeah, great, whatever. Listen I... Wow, there's less in here than before." Church said, looking around at the moor of darkness around them. "I didn't think it was possible, but apparently you got stupider Caboose." Church said, staring at the moron intently. "...And we can go on walks, and we can visit the Reds together!" Caboose had heard nothing and was still prattling on about what he and Church could do as 'buddies'. "Caboose, SHUT UP!" Church roared, finally garnering some quiet from the moronic private. "Listen, I need you to make me a new body. If we want to...hang out, I'm going to need a way to walk around on my own. Especially since you left my other body behind!" Church growled, practically bristling with anger. Caboose twiddled his thumbs together, looking genuinely ashamed. "But Church, the Reds wouldn-" Caboose was cut off shortly by an impatient Church. "I don't care why you left my body behind, but I need a new one! And it better be good!" Church demanded, glaring at the blue private from behind his visor. Caboose only smiled and saluted Church with a lopsided grin. "I can do it Church!" He proclaimed, puffing his chest out. Church sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's great. Now you GOTTA WAKE UP CABOOSE!" Church's sudden shout jolted Caboose from his coma, his real eyes flying open as his whole body jerked in a spastic display of limbs. Bright light and fuzzy color assaulted his eyes, making the private try to squeeze them shut tight. He couldn't control his arms and legs as they flailed about, hitting something distinctly hard. His body ached with pain, a feeling Caboose didn't relish in the least. "Caboose! Stop moving! Jesus, Grif hurry up and help me!" A voice squealed, laden with stress and anxiety. Hands clamped down on Caboose's ankles while another set locked around his wrists, pinning the Blue soldier to the makeshift cot. Suddenly, the world came into sharp definition around Caboose, making him realize where he was. He was in Blue base. He was safe. He was home. For minutes, Caboose merely laid upon the cot, feeling his chest burn with a scorching pain as it rose and fell at an erratic pace. His body was limp, no longer able to muster the energy to fight off unwanted hands. Simmons puffed, slowly lifting his hands from Caboose's wrists, warily eyeing the soldier. "Grif, go find that medic lady. I think she'll want to know Caboose is awake." Simmons said, not liking the blank way Caboose stared at the ceiling. "Why do I have to do it?" Grif whined, crossing his arms over his plated chest. "You goddamn... Just go get her you fucking cockbite!" Simmons snapped, lifting up his rifle in a threatening way. Grif scoffed. "You would- HEY!" Grif shouted as a bullet whizzed by his visor, just barely missing the orange helmet by an inch. "That's your only warning shot!" Simmons growled. However, the facade dropped as he barely contained a laugh as Grif practically ran from the room. "The only time I've seen him move that fast is to get the last Oreo." Simmons said to himself, cracking a grin under the blank gold face of his visor.

"Fucking asshole..." Grif grumbled as he slowed down to a begrudging trudge through the gloomy halls of Blue base. He hunched his shoulders up around his face; cursing the day he had met Simmons. That kiss ass had annoyed him from day one! ~One of these days...~ Grif grumbled to himself as he slowed down even further. The sound of Mitch's voice could be heard, but there was no one else in the base to talk to. Grif, feeling suspicious, stopped outside a doorway and hid himself from view. "I haven't seen him yet... No, I don't think he intends to reveal himself... Well, dammit Des, what do you want me to do? If I start acting like that, I'm going to alert him to my presence! It's bad enough that he's already attacked one these soldiers, I don't need Omi attacking another one." Mitch said, grumbling. Grif furrowed his brow, his hands tightening upon his rifle suddenly. Something about the medic hadn't sat right with him from the beginning, and now she was starting to sound a lot like...Wash almost. ~Is this chick a freelancer?~ Grif thought, trying to sidle closer to the door opening. "Look, give me some more time to look for him, and then I'll report back, okay Des? ...Don't huff at me! I swear to god, I'll reach through this radio and smack you silly!" Mitch scolded, placing her hands on her white armored hips. With a final huff and 'goodbye', Mitch turned off her radio. Grif decided it was a good time as any to pop up. "Hey! Caboose is awake!" The Hawaiian announced loudly, trying to make it seem like he had only just walked around the corner. Mitch turned, gold visor glinting under the fluorescent light of the base. "Thanks! I didn't think he would wake up so soon!" Mitch said, her voice light as she began to hurriedly walk to the temporary medical bay. "Has he said anything this time?" Mitch pressed, grabbing Grif's wrist and dragging him along. And she did it so easily! "Um, well- Dammit let go! We don't have to walk so fast!" Grif shot, squirming in Mitch's grip. She only continued marching on, never wavering. She was like an ox! And it was hard to believe, considering that she was shorter than even Grif. Mitch finally released Grif outside of Caboose's room, shooing Simmons away like a worried mother hen. "Jeez, she acts like Caboose is her own child." Simmons complained, huffing. Grif could see Mitch bent over Caboose, talking to him in a low and soothing voice as her hands ran over the injured sections of his body. "Yeah, well... Have you noticed the medic acting weird?" Grif asked as he and Simmons began meandering towards the entrance of Blue base. It looked like Mitch wouldn't be done with Caboose for a while, so there was no sense of them standing around. Simmons shrugged, visored face turning to look at the orange Spartan. "No... Why? She actually seems normal." Simmons pointed out, as they stood in the open arch that led to outside. The ground was soft from the rain, leaving behind the aroma of crushed pine nettles and fresh water. The river gurgled happily, overflowing with the clear liquid as it rushed out to the surrounding sea. Grif frowned. "Well, I heard her talking to someone on the radio...and it didn't sound like Sarge or Command!" The Hawaiian pointed out, shifting in place. The area looked brighter than normal in his HUD display. Simmons only shrugged. "She was probably talking to Command and you just didn't hear them right." The half robot said, earning a glare from Grif. "No it wasn't! If you were just a little bit closer, I would show you!" Grif threatened, waving his rifle around. Simmons opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by some sort of droning sound. It sounded like it was getting closer, but from where? "Do you hear that?" Simmons asked. "Here what? The sound of our pitiful existence?" Grif responded sarcastically. "No, I mean something real! And my existence isn't pitiful, just so you know!" Simmons shot back, craning his helmeted head. It sounded like a yell... "...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" At the last second, both Simmons and Grif looked up, mouths agape to release surprised yells. Before both could move, Sarge dropped from the sky and crashed into Grif, sending them both to the ground with solid thuds. They were a tangle of limbs and armor, a moaning mess that had Simmons on the precipice of laughing until he soiled himself, or trying to see if his CO was okay. "Goddamn Grif... You can't even cushion my fall right!" Sarge said, his voice wavering with pain. Grif only grunted in response, either too lazy to move or he really couldn't. It was hard to tell sometimes. It was only now that Simmons saw the long gouges in the older soldiers armor, cutting through metal with ease. "Are you okay sir?" Simmons asked, immediately bending down to Sarge's level. The man hadn't moved, a sure sign that something was wrong with his body. "Get me off this dirt bag..." Sarge rumbled, squinting at Simmons through the flashing warnings that covered his HUD. They were screaming at him about how his armor was in critical condition, and that the suit would fail any moment. "Mitch! Hey, medic lady! We got a situation out here!" Simmons yelled, his voice in a notably higher register, too afraid to move Sarge in case he hurt the older man more. "What's going- WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!" Mitch exclaimed as she saw the heap of Sarge and Grif. She rushed outside, kneeling by the head Red Spartan and twisting off his helmet. Blood was dripping down the side of his chiseled face, and turning his short silver hair a rather hilarious shade of pink. Mitch was quick, pulling up an eyelid and shining a penlight into Sarge's eyes, gauging how quickly his pupils dilated. Mitch grumbled, glaring up at Simmons. "I check on Caboose for a few minutes and then I come to find out that ANOTHER one of you idiots is injured! How are you people this accident prone?!" She demanded, wrapping her arms under Sarge's shoulders and dragging him off of Grif. The Orange soldier slowly sat up, rubbing his helmeted head in annoyance. "Yeah, I'm okay, thanks for asking!" He whined, crossing his arms over his chest plate. Simmons could only shrug. "We have a long track record of injuries and accidents." The half cyborg explained, to which Mitch groaned. "Help me get him inside then. No use standing around. You!" Mitch pointed at a still seated Grif. "I want you on watch. If there's something lurking around this place, we shouldn't be so lax with our security." Mitch said, as she once again picked up Sarge's upper half. Simmons quickly grabbed his knees, muttering something about awkward positions as they shuffled into the Blue base once again.

Once Sarge had been stripped of his armor and examined, Mitch had reported that he only had some bruising to his abdomen and a mild concussion. Currently, the Red leader was on a cot on the opposite side of the room from Caboose, blissfully sleeping away. Mitch sighed, running a gloved hand through her unruly hair. She had already discarded her helmet, opting for being able to see Sarge with her own eyes, and not through her HUD. "Okay, I'll be honest, shit like this really doesn't happen that much." Simmons said, watching as Caboose woke up from his brief nap. The Bluetard had apparently fallen asleep right after waking up from what Simmons assumed to be a nightmare. Mitch frowned, saying nothing as she walked over to Caboose. The private looked at the approaching medic, tilting his head in thought. What had the green man said? It had been something about pie, crazy people and someone named Missygon. "Hey there Caboose. How are you feeling?" Mitch asked in a soothing, calm voice as she picked up one of the privates wrists, and began counting his heartbeats. Caboose blinked, staring at Mitch intently. "I had a funny dream where the little green man told me about pie. Oh, and Church was there! He wanted me to build him a new body, so we can play and hang out together!" Caboose said excitedly, practically bouncing in his seat. Mitch, satisfied with Caboose's heart rate, looked at him with genuine interest. "A little green man? Did he have a name?" She asked, running one hand over Caboose's bandaged chest to check that they weren't tender with infection, peeling one strip back. "Um...I think his name is Delta, but I don't remember so I call him the little green man!" Caboose explained, seemingly unaffected by Mitch prodding at his wounds. They were well on the way to mending just fine, they were just deep. It seemed the biofoam was doing its job of plugging up the wounds. "Delta. What an interesting name! But why were you talking about pie?" Mitch asked, glancing at Caboose's back and then his head. He was doing extremely well for someone who looked like they got attacked by an angry grizzly bear. "He said someone ate the pie, and that they were really made. I think it's because the pie was bad and they got a really bad tummy ache." Caboose concluded with a smile. Mitch shook her head, but smiled right back at Caboose. "Alright, it seems you-" Mitch was cut off by the sound of a scream piercing the air, a strangled shout that was followed by a horrifying crack of metal against concrete. Simmons was already rushing for the door, fear clenching at his chest. The only one outside was Grif! "Hold on Grif! I'm coming!"

_**Author: Ooooooohh, what's going on?! Is there another attack?! Can Sarge really fly?! Well, you're going to have to wait for the next chapter to find out! So, now would be an excellent time to hit that review button and leave a comment! :D I loooooooveeeee hearing from my readers about what they think! Honest! And you don't even need an account to review! So, if you're just cruising through FF and don't have an account or aren't logged in, you can still review my story! So, LET'S REVIEW EVERYONE!**_

_**Flames will be use to heat Hell and Axel! :D**_


	5. The Beast Revealed

_**Author: I finally got around to posting the fifth chapter! My updates might be a little longer in between, but that's only because I'm working on making **__**Hunted**__** even better!**_

_**And of course, I have to thank all my reviewers! Please keep reading and reviewing!**_

_**I want to reserve this piece right here as thanks to Eviltwin05! Not nly has she been patient enough to read through this and help edit, but she's also helped me develop this story further! How did I write before?!**_

_**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN Red vs Blue, or anything related to it! I only own a few OC's and main plot.**_

_**WARNING: CONTAINS VIOLENCE, BLOOD, GORE, AND POSSIBLE SEXUAL SITUATIONS! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR POSSIBLE SCARRING OF THE MIND OR ADDICTION! (Because we all know how contagious Red vs Blue is)**_

**Hunted Chapter 5 **

_**The Beast Revealed**_

When Simmons ran outside, he was met with a vision of an abandoned battlefield. The ground had been torn up in long troughs, earth gouged out by pawing feet and wicked claws. A few nearby trees were shot to hell, some barely standing with only a core to support their tremendous weight. And yet, Simmons didn't see Grif. He panicked, thinking that the beast had surely carried him off for a meal! Grif certainly had enough body weight to spare...  
A groan caught Simmons attention, faint enough to barely register on his helmets speakers. Simmons snapped his head to the right, and barely held back a strangled scream off his own.  
Grif lay crumpled upon the ground, face down and unmoving. His rifle lay discarded a few feet from still fingertips, the barrel shorn off as if by a blade of hot metal. The concrete wall of the base behind Grif was stained with a large spot of blood, still fresh and bright ruby red against the grey stone work. Simmons felt his body jerk and rush forward, chest clenching tight with fear. He knelt by his unconscious comrade, sucking in a shaky breath.  
The back of Grif's orange helmet was smashed, caved in like a watermelon assaulted with a baseball bat. When Simmons hesitantly touched the wound, his fingers came back seeping in blood. He swallowed thickly, his gaze suddenly dropping to Grif's side. Three gouges were hidden slightly by the way Grif curled, bleeding out and obviously painful. Simmons brushed away bits of broken visor to catch a glimpse of Grif's jade colored eye.  
The orange soldier was staring blankly ahead, eyes half lidded and glazed over with a thin film of oblivion. Grif didn't respond to Simmons gently shaking his shoulder, causing the maroon Spartan to feel a cold stone of dread drop into the pit of his stomach. Grif was barely breathing, blood dripping down his face to leave tracks of dark garnet red in their wake.  
"Grif? Grif! Grif!" Simmons shouted, violently shaking the Hawaiian's shoulder in a bout of panic. A soft, pained moan met Simmons ear as Grif's eye flickered. Some of the haze left his jade eyes, yet it was still unfocused. With dilated pupils, Grif's gaze slowly moved up until he met the blank gold face of Simmons visor.  
"Simm...ons?" He coughed wetly, blood gurgling in his throat. Simmons felt some relief alleviate the tense set of his shoulders. Yet, he couldn't relax. Where was Mitch? She had heard the scream, same as Simmons!

"Hey, you better hang on you cockbite." Simmons said, though the insult was only half-heartedly thrown. One shaking, orange arm lifted off the ground, causing Simmons to tense back up. Grif's hand shook as he struggled, pointing to something behind Simmons before, with another pained gasp, it fell limply to the ground.  
Simmons swallowed thickly, feeling the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise with the uneasy feeling of being watched. Slowly, the maroon soldier turned to face whatever Grif had so painstakingly pointed out.

And there the beast stood before him.  
It was a monstrous sight to behold as it stood in the midst of it's carnage, barely a few meters from Simmons. It was like a lion from the depths of Africa, though this monster was a far bigger cat than it's relatives. It's broad, muscular shoulders were higher than Caboose's head! Taut leathery skin, the color of scorched wood pulled over layers of bulging muscles. It's paws were the size of saucers, wicked, curving claws jutting forth to dig up earth with every step. Lips pulled back from a triangular snout to reveal yellowed fangs that hung from red, bleeding gums. Spittle dripped from scarred lips, foam bubbling up at the corners of it's large mouth. It's boxy head swung around to stare at Simmons with a glowing yellow eye, the pupil a mere pinprick of blank darkness swimming in a sea of sickening nausea. Matted black hair hung from it's body in thick, matted clumps streaked with grease and blood. The beast growled, whip like tail swishing as it dropped into a crouch, licking it's slobbering lips.  
Simmons could only stare in horror, his body frozen with terror. His mind reeled in panic, fingers shaking as the beast let loose a deafening roar. ~I'm going to die!~ he screamed in his head as the terrifying creature launched from the ground, claws extending to rip into Simmons frail body. Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl, each second lasting a lifetime. The maroon soldier stared in horror as the creature came ever closer, maw wide open in a snarling roar that reverberated in his chest. Simmons stared down into the cavern of wicked fangs and a lolling tongue, screaming for his flesh. Simmons squeezed his eyes shut, lifting his arms to guard his face in a primal attempt to protect his body.

And yet...no pain came. A furious snarl met Simmons ears, urging him to look up and cautiously open one eye. He was surrounded by a domed energy shield, made of strangely rotating plates that were a glowing yellow color. The beast was pacing outside of it, clawing at the shield in a mad attempt to get to the soft center. Simmons gulped, thanking whatever force had saved him and Grif.  
"Hey Simmons! You still alive?!" Mitch yelled from behind the beast. Simmons looked up and felt his jaw drop yet again.  
There the medic stood, in full armor and carrying a M7 Sub-Machine gun in both hands. The beast turned and roared, spittle flying from it's mouth.  
"What are you doing?! That thing is going to kill you!" Simmons cried, his voice in a notably higher register.  
"Good to see you're still alive! You two just kick back while I handle this! Oh! And don't try to shoot inside the shield!" Mitch called.  
Simmons could only stare in horror as the lion like beast bounded toward Mitch, churning up great hunks of earth with every angry step. Mitch only stood her ground, and with a shout, began firing her weapons.  
The flash of the barrels blinded the beast, who snarled and reared back, paws swiping the air above Mitch's head.  
"Bring it on, Omicron! I know you're in there, you bastard!" Mitch shouted, the beast roaring as she unloaded a hail of bullets into its soft underbelly. Blood sprayed upon her white armor, a thick black substance that dripped down in glob like tears. The beast dropped down, a pain filled snarl filling its chest. Before Mitch could turn its head into a puree, it swiped out with one paw. Mitch cried out as it caught her legs, sending her skidding to the ground. Her machine guns went flying, landing just out of her reach.  
"Mitch! Run away!" Simmons pleaded, yet the medic only growled and quickly rolled to her feet. The beast came bounding toward her, fangs flashing from beneath pulled back lips.  
"Bring it on!" Mitch hissed, just as it came close. It went to swipe out another devastating paw, yet this time Mitch was ready. She jumped up, evading its claws effortlessly. She kicked out with a grunt, her boots smashing with destructive force onto the beasts skull. It stumbled back with a pained roar, blood mingling with it's spit and flying from its mouth. It looked like a fatal blow, the skull caved in to expose a pulsating pink organ beneath. Simmons felt like he was going to be sick. He hadn't ever seen such gore before. The beast shook its head around, growls rumbling in its throat. And yet it refused to go down.  
"Des, I could use some help!" Mitch screeched into her radio, trying to dive for her machine guns while the beast was stunned. Simmons looked around in confusion. Who the hell was Des? There wasn't anyone named that in Valhalla!  
"I'm coming in. Think you can hold on for a minute?" A calm voice responded over the radio, shocking Simmons.  
"I unloaded a whole clip into its stomach and kicked the thing in the head and its still coming! I'm not going to last another thirty seconds!" Mitch shot back, finally recovering her weapons and reloading quickly. The beast seemed to recover, and with a roar, pounced upon Mitch like she was a mouse. The medic fell back on her back, and with a yell, launched herself back up. Her feet collided with the already bleeding stomach of the creature in a solid blow, sending it back across the ground. The beast tumbled over and over across the grass, until it finally came to a halt by digging it's claws into the shorn field. More black blood, thick like hot tar, dripped from its gaping maw to pool upon the ground in size able puddles as it climbed to its paws, snarling. Mitch lifted her machine guns and squeezed the triggers, only to find that they were jammed. With an angry growl, Mitch let them go and cast her eyes around for some replacement weapon as the beast came bounding towards the open medic.  
"Goddammit Des, where are you?! I can't fight hand-to-hand!" Mitch howled as the beast pounced upon her. She swung a fist upwards, hoping to catch its jaw in a stunning blow. Yet it's maw opened to encase her arm within a trap of sharpened fangs. Just as it was about to clamp down upon the medic's arm with a sickening crunch, it roared and swung its head around. Mitch was thrown across the field, her armor scratched but not punctured. When the medic looked up, she saw a flash of green and blue wrestling with the beast. It writhed upon the ground as the Spartan locked it into a sleeper hold, legs digging into the ribbed sides with a passion.  
"About time you showed up!" Mitch shot at the stranger, who only replied with a grunt as he tried to drag the beast to the ground.  
"Get inside the base! NOW!" The Spartan shouted. Without a word, Mitch bolted to her feet and sprinted to the shield protecting Simmons and Grif. She heard an angry roar and the sound of a heavy body colliding with trees as the beast ran off into the foliage. But this was only a slight respite. The creature could easily overpower the Spartan and come back if it wished.  
"Simmons! Help me get Grif inside before that thing comes back!" Mitch barked as the shield wavered and finally collapsed when the medic drew near. The maroon soldier hurriedly draped one orange arm around his shoulders while Mitch grabbed the other. He flinched as the echoing of bullets ripped through the air, sounding far too close for comfort.  
"Who the hell was that?!" Simmons demanded as he and Mitch began hobbling into the base with Grif in tow.  
"That would be Des! He's a close friend of mine! I'll explain later!" Mitch huffed back as they finally entered the makeshift infirmary. Sarge was awake, as well as Caboose. The lone Blue Spartan looked frightened, and with good reason.  
"Simmons! Why the hell are we in the dirty Blues base?! Is this some sort of hokey interrogation technique?! Well it won't work, you dirty rotten- HEY!" Sarge shouted as he was rudely pushed aside by Mitch. She wanted the cot!  
"Simmons, get him outta my face or I'll give him another concussion!" The medic threatened as she gently began to pry Grif's helmet off. It was cracked down the middle, making it easy to pull apart.  
Beneath the helmet, Grif looked far worse. His face was drained of color, turned to a sickly grey pallor that muted his dark skin, melding it with the patches of Simmons fair and freckled donations. Blood plastered his black hair to his skull, slowly starting to stain the cot beneath him. Mitch turned Grif's head and hissed sharply.  
Grif's helmet had failed to fully protect his head. Slivers of bone peeked through matted black hair, and Simmons swore he saw the pulsating organ of his pink brain beneath the mess of broken skull and torn flesh. It made the maroon Spartan want to throw up.  
"I need an oxygen tube, a mask, and an IV! STAT! There has to be some around this base!" Mitch ordered as she began ripping off the rest of Grif's armor. She cast it away without a second thought, exposing his bruised body piece by piece. Though the armor hadn't shown it, Grif had taken massive damage to his body.  
Mitch turned to glare at Simmons and Sarge, ripping off her helmet. Her whitewashed blue eyes were ablaze with fury.  
"Why aren't you moving?! Do you want him to die?!" She demanded, throwing her helmet down in anger.  
"Well, he ain't really worth the resources! He's just a lazy dirt bag!" Sarge spoke, only to receive a cracked orange helmet to the gut.  
"You assholes better get moving or so help me God, I'll have three patients!" She roared, turning back to Grif. Caboose was the first to bolt out of the room (even though Mitch hadn't really included him), followed by Simmons who was yelling about how he saw some medical supplies in the back of the base.  
Yet Sarge only stood there for a minute, his lips pressed into a fine line as he stared at the ruined helmet in his hands. The broken visor stared back at him in a questioning manner, as if asking why it had deserved such abuse. Sarge growled and dropped the orange helmet, turning and walking away. He hunched his shoulders up around his chiseled face, frowning deeply. He didn't care what happened to that lazy ass.

When Simmons and Caboose came barreling back into the room mere moments later, they were met with the sight of Mitch pushing down on Grif's chest frantically, bending down every thirty pushes to give him two breaths with her mouth. She turned to briefly glance at the two, her eyes serious and hardened.  
"Get that oxygen over here!" She barked, Simmons rushing forward without a second thought. He fumbled with the mask, noticing how much blood was smeared on Mitch's pursed lips. He finally managed to slide it over Grif's face, only to have his hands jerked over to his chest.  
"Keep pushing down at a moderate pace right here with both hands overlapped!" Mitch instructed, placing Simmons hands in the middle of Grif's chest. It was CPR, the maroon soldier realized. He settled into the pace quickly as Mitch began taking a pair of clippers and starting to shear off Grif's hair around the collapsed portion of his skull. Simmons gulped as he saw more and more of his comrades hair fall in matted chunks to the floor, piling up to form a little hairy monster. ~My god... Please pull through Gri- DEXTER! Dammit, you better pull through!~ Simmons thought, using the orange Spartans real name. His body shook as the last dregs of adrenaline coursing through his body began to dissipate, leaving him cold and weak at the knees. He spied Mitch out of the corner of his visor, hurriedly sticking something into Grif's head. Simmons had to control the urge to vomit inside his helmet and turn away, looking at Grif's hands. They were limp, and covered with blood, pressed against his sides in an unnatural manner. He could see bruises beneath the dried scabs of liquid, and felt his stomach churn with a mind numbing dread. As Mitch began hooking up an IV to Grif while she waited for whatever she had stuck in his brain to finish, Simmons somehow knew things weren't going to get back to normal for a while.

_**Author: Okay, now it's time for you people to hit that review buttom and leave your thoughts! I know you loyal followers are out there, so don't leave me hanging! Your comments are what keep me going! So REVIEW! Or Lopez and his 2 mph army will attack. In exactly one week. XD**_

_**And again, I want to give thanks to Eviltwin 05 for being my awesome beta, and my close friends being my unofficial ego boosters! XD Thank you guys! I luv ya!**_

_**Flames will be used to heat Hell and Axel! :D**_


	6. Pasts Revealed

_**Author: FINALLY! I'm sorry for leaving my amazing followers hanging! But I've wrapped up with my swim season and I'm raring to get to work! The only reason this chapter took so long was because I was making it extra awesome for everyone! So enjoy chapter six of **__**Hunted**__**!**_

_**I also want to take the time to thank my amazing beta reader, Eviltwion05, for giving me awesome ideas and helping to improve my writing! I can't thank you enough!**_

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own anything of Red vs. Blue! My property is the OC's and the plot of this story!**

**WARNING: HUNTED CONTAINS SEVERA VIOLENCE, GORE, YAOI, SWEARING AND POSSIBLE FUTURE SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY MENTAL SCARRING OR ADDICTION TO HUNTED! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!**

**Hunted Chapter 6**

_**Pasts Revealed**_

The slow and steady beep of machines filled Blue Base, a quiet soundtrack to the trauma that had befallen the people inside.  
Grif laid upon the cot, his body unnaturally still. His arms were pressed against his body in a stiff manner, head slightly turned to the left. Layers upon layers of pink gauze adorned his head, a slender rod sticking from the back of his skull. His chest hardly rose and fell, oxygen pumped through his body by the tube shoved down his throat.  
Next to Grif, sat Simmons. The maroon soldier had long ago cast aside his own helmet and dragged a chair to his friends' bedside, arms folded over his chest in a resolute manner. He had refused to leave, even when Mitch had gently suggested he go and sleep.  
In the six hours since Grif had been attacked, Simmons had not moved from his spot. Yet now he was slumped forward, head pressed against Grif's chest and one hand was curled around the orange Spartans. Simmons was asleep as well, exhaustion finally taking over.  
Mitch, standing in the doorway, sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling her back muscles ache as they coiled in a tense manner.  
"A medic shouldn't be so wound up when everything is calm." A cool voice said, a heavy hand resting on one red painted shoulder. Mitch looked up, catching sigh of the same Spartan who had saved them earlier. It was Des.  
The blank visor of his green Rogue helmet stared down at her, hiding the schooled expression of calm behind it. Des was a tall man, and broad shouldered. He stood a good foot above Mitch, and was packed with muscle.  
Mitch groaned, holding her head in one hand.  
"I know that... But this Sim trooper is in serious condition. He won't last a week like this, and definitely not with the tools I have." Mitch reported, sighing heavily. In all her years of serving as a medic, she had seen plenty of carnage first hand. Full grown men crying on the field, limbs mangled and torn to shreds. Some who suffocated from being trapped in their own armor. Others who had been mercilessly murdered by their own deranged comrades. Mitch felt as if all those years spent running on the battlefields from one screaming soldier to the next had taken years out if her. She no longer vomited after treating dozens of bloodied patients, nor did she feel so mentally tired after several surgeries. But now she felt nothing but a gripping exhaustion.  
The hiss of automatic locks disengaging caused Mitch to look up once again to see Des' face.  
His skin was dark like worn leather, heavy creases in his skin around his green eyes and his firm mouth. His light brown hair, once long like a lion's mane, was cut short in a military fashion and streaked with grey. The left side of his face was creased, pulled like fabric across his face. Thin white scars muddled the leather brown of his skin, a constant reminder of a long ago accident.  
"We knew what Omicron was capable of. I'm only surprised he hasn't murdered all of them. He may be getting weaker." Des stated in a low voice, green eyes peering down at his smaller partner. Mitch shook her head.  
"No, something isn't right. Omicron is looking for something, which is what concerns me. Omicron isn't the type to hunt for something. He's all about destruction and chaos. One of the Blue troopers claimed to have a dream of some sort, but I'm having a hard time figuring it out. It doesn't help that the Trooper who had the dream is a bit slow." Mitch stated, tipping her head back and resting it against the cool metal of the doorway. Des let a small smile cross his thin lips, green eyes sparking in mild amusement.  
"I'm surprised. You're usually good with the slow ones." He chuckled, receiving a scowl from Mitch and a punch to the arm.  
"That's because I have to work with you. Took your sweet ass time out there!" Mitch growled. Des only shrugged, lips twitching with a barely held back smile.  
"It takes time to successfully sneak up on the enemy." He said, lifting up a small shiny rectangle. He peeled back the foil to expose a stick of gum. He popped it into his mouth nonchalantly as Mitch shook her head.  
"Right, like it's so- hey! Is that my gum?" Mitch demanded, only to be met with an innocent look from Des.  
"No." He replied casually, though he couldn't hold back a smirk. Mitch growled and placed her hands on her hips, narrowing whitewashed blue eyes at her partner.  
"You're a bad fucking liar." She accused. Des only grinned at her.

While the two partners were 'fighting', Simmons had woken up. At first, he merely laid there. He listened to the slow rhythm of Dexter Grif's heartbeat. It thumped against his ear, caressing his ear drum with the reassurance that it was still working. Simmons gripped Grif's hand tighter, pressing his lips together into a fine line, eyes stinging. It was such a frail thing, this beating heart. It frightened him how easily it could simply flutter from existence, with no fuss or fanfare. Simmons supposed that it would be like Grif to slip off quietly like this, with a hushed breath and last flicker of his eyes. Simmons couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand that Dexter Grif, his best friend and biggest pain in the ass, could just disappear. Before Simmons could stew much longer in his ever increasing pit of guilt and anger, he heard Mitch and Des. He strained his ears for any snippet of good news, heart thumping painfully in his chest.  
"...won't last a week like this, and definitely not with the tools I have." That wasn't what Simmons wanted to hear.  
Slowly, the maroon soldier sat up, lifting his mismatched gaze to the duo. Anger suddenly began to burn at the bottom of his gut, rising up like the great roaring tide of a tsunami. He grit his teeth together, jaw locked tight as he ground his molars together.  
"Omicron is looking for something... Not the type to hunt..." They knew something! Simmons swore that these strangers, whoever they were, knew something important. And they were holding it back. _**~These...these fucking impostors know something!~ **_Simmons subconscious screamed, claws of paranoia and rage digging deep into his brain. They knew something and were keeping it from Simmons... they were lying to him! With a roar of building rage, Simmons snatched his discarded rifle, yanked the safety off, and swung it around until the crosshairs rested firmly on the back of Mitch's head.  
"What the fuck is going on? Who are you people?!" Simmons bellowed, his face flushed red with anger. The maroon soldier was practically frothing at the mouth, his one green eye wild with fear and nostrils flared. Slowly, Mitch and Des turned until they were staring back at the maroon soldier. Mitch put her hands up, trying to appear non-threatening to the person pointing a gun at her. Des discreetly moved one hand until it rested upon his holstered Magnum, his face like cold stone, devoid of emotion.  
"Simmons...just try to remain calm. We aren't going to hurt you. We're trying to help you." Mitch said slowly, cautiously taking a step forward. She instantly regretted it as a bullet flew past her head, burying itself into the wall just inches from her unprotected skull. She flinched, but kept her eyes focused on Simmons as he cocked the rifle with an enraged howl.  
"Don't give me that bullshit! You two aren't fucking normal soldiers and I know it! You're Freelancers, aren't you?!" Simmons demanded, his chest rattling with every rabid, quickened breath he took.  
"Des...I don't see a way out of this now." Mitch muttered, her lips barely moving. Des grunted, narrowing his eyes at Simmons. With a quick flick of the wrist and a shove to Mitch's shoulder, he could easily dispatch the Sim Trooper with minimal damage to them, or the injured Spartan. The medic growled, her eyes darting to the green Spartan.  
"No! We need to help them, not kill them!" She hissed, shifting even further in front of Des. He realized there was no way out of it.  
Begrudgingly, Des raised his hands to his head and locked them behind his skull, giving Simmons a narrow death glare. If Mitch thought they could get out of this situation, he would have to trust her. A deranged soldier was one of the most dangerous. Not only to them self, but to everyone around them. Mitch would have to tread lightly if they were to get out of this without bodily harm.  
"Alright, I'll tell you what's going on, IF you promise to put the rifle down. The discharge from that weapon could infect his wounds, and he could easily die." Mitch said, nodding to the prone Grif. For a second, Simmons resolve wavered. His eyes darted to his injured comrade, breath hitching in his chest. Could it really hurt Grif? He knew little of the medical world and the frail nature of the human body.  
Mitch took a brave step forward, stretching one gloved hand out, palm up.  
"Please, he can't take much more. I want to help him." Mitch murmured, her voice a mere whisper in the air.  
Simmons felt his muscles shake, and finally relax as his arms dropped. The rifle clattered to the ground, hands shaking. He didn't understand what had driven him to such ferocity...  
Mitch quickly strode forward and kicked the weapon away, taking a firm grip of Simmons shoulders and sitting him back in his chair.  
"Alright, alright... Des, go get the other two. This would be better explained with all of them present... And unarmed." Mitch added lightly, not taking her eyes off of Simmons.  
As Des turned and stalked away with heavy, thundering steps, Simmons groaned and buried his face in his hands. He felt cold all of a sudden, freezing drops of sweat trailing down one side of his face.  
"I don't know what came over me..." He muttered, a half hearted apology. Mitch patted his shoulder, narrowing her eyes. She had seen few soldiers succumb to such stress and actually make it back from the edge. More often than not, they fell of the cliff of sanity and into a sea of broken moments of clarity and demoralizing thoughts.  
"I can understand... You're worried about your buddy, you were attacked by an unknown creature, and we just dropped down out of nowhere. It's a lot to handle." Mitch said slowly, trying to reassure Simmons. She was met only with an exasperated groan, and a string of muttered words she couldn't quite decipher.  
A few moments later, the sound of marching footsteps through the metal halls met the medic's ear. She straightened up, hands firmly grasping her hips. A rather grumpy Sarge and a humming Caboose came into the room, shortly followed by a scowling Des. The Blue Spartan was carrying a box of broken crayons and a piece of paper covered in his scribbling, and Sarge was clutching a screwdriver tightly.  
"What is it ya want now?" The Red Team leader demanded, his grizzled face crinkled with annoyance. Caboose happily sat on the floor, dragging crayons over the paper in wide arcs.  
Mitch rubbed her face, sighing heavily.  
"Look, we need to explain what's going on." She started. Des marched up beside the little medic and cleared his throat loudly. He crossed his thick arms over his chest plate and planted his feet into the ground.  
"I'm not going to sugarcoat this and you're going to listen to everything I have to say whether you like it or not." Des said gruffly, eyeing the three Sim Troopers with a hardened green eye. When he received no contention from the soldiers, Des took a breath.  
"We're Ex-Freelancer."

_**Author: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I AM THE EPITOME OF EVIL IN THIS UNIVERSE! HAHAHAHAHAH! **_

_**:D Now hit that review button or suffer the consequences of my evil writer's wrath! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**_

_**Again, I want to thank Eviltwin05 for her amazing Beta skills! :D **_

_**Flames will be used to heat Hell and Axel! :D**_


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